“Yes, thank you for that kindly reminder.” She snatched the ribbon back, scowling and stepping around him. “You’ll be surprised to find my ears actually do work. I know who they are. More importantly, you know who they are, if you’d stop acting like a barbarian and listen.”

“I don’t—” He shook his head again, eyes narrowing. Confusion clouded his gaze, and stupid, useless hope lit in my heart. He sensed the truth in her words. Of course he did. Surely he could feel something had gone terribly wrong. Surely if he followed the thread of his thoughts, he would realize what had happened, and he would reverse the pattern. And he had to reverse the pattern. Forgetting me was one thing, but this—this wasn’t Reid. This was a murderous zealot. He must’ve botched the magic somehow, perhaps pulled two cords instead of one.

As quickly as the thought came, I dismissed it, knowing in my heart it wasn’t true. Reid hadn’t botched anything.

He’d simply . . . forgotten me.

Forgotten him.

Forgotten everything.

“Remember, Reid,” I whispered, tears thickening my voice. “Please. I don’t know what you gained by doing this, but give it back. It isn’t worth it.” When I reached out to him, unable to stop myself, his knuckles tightened on his knives. He pushed Célie behind him once more.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“The pattern.” The sounds of the beach fell away as I wrung my hands, imploring him to look at me. To see me. “It’s your magic. Only you can reverse it. You lost consciousness in L’Eau Mélancolique. Think back to that moment. Remember what you chose to forget.”

“Lou.” Coco shook her head sadly. “Don’t.”

“He needs to understand. I can help him—”

“He did understand. That’s the point. He made a choice he felt was necessary. We need to respect it.”

“Respect it?” My voice rose hysterically. “How can I respect it? How can I respect any of this?” I flung my arms wide, dangerously close to my breaking point. “If he doesn’t love me—if he doesn’t even remember me—what was the point in all this, Coco? What was the point in any of it? All the pain, all the sorrow, all the death?”

Tears limned her own lashes as she took my hands in hers. “He did this for you, Lou. If Morgane has forgotten, maybe you’re—you’re finally safe.”

I tore my hand away from her. “I will never be safe, Coco. Even if Morgane has forgotten me, Josephine hasn’t. Auguste and his Chasseurs haven’t. How are we supposed to win this war if Reid can’t separate friend from foe?”

“I don’t know.” She shook her head helplessly. “I really don’t. I just know he saved our lives.”

Reid wrapped an arm around Célie’s waist then, pulling her away from us. I closed my eyes against the sight of it. The sight of them. He’d made a sacrifice for the greater good, yet again, my blood spilled upon the altar. “You’re both insane,” he said brusquely. “Come on, Célie. We need to go.”

Célie’s voice rose in protest. “But I don’t want—”

“You’re making a mistake, Reid,” Coco said.

He chuckled darkly. “Don’t worry. I’ll be back for you, witch. And your friend. I’ll even bring some friends of my own. Perhaps we’ll build a bonfire.”

“Oh, you’ll be back all right, brother.” Beau rose to his feet. “You have nowhere else to go. But you won’t be taking Célie with you.”

“With all due respect, brother—”

“All due respect means honoring the lady’s request,” Coco said. “She doesn’t want to go with you, and you don’t want to pick a fight with me, Reid. Not without your Balisarda.”

The threat hung heavy in the air.

I finally opened my eyes.

Reid’s throat worked with palpable distress as he weighed the situation: two witches against an unarmed huntsman with his blasphemous prince and childhood love caught in the crossfire. The Chasseur inside him—the part ruled by duty, by honor, by courage—refused to leave. The man inside him knew he must. Coco hadn’t been bluffing; she would hurt him if necessary. He didn’t know I wouldn’t let her. He didn’t know he could wield magic.

He didn’t remember me.

Leveling his knives at our faces, he spoke softly, viciously. “I will be back.”

I watched him disappear up the path with an overwhelming sense of emptiness.

Coco pressed my head upon her shoulder. “He’ll be back.”

Sticks and Stones

Reid

My footsteps pounded in rhythm with my heart. Faster and faster. Faster still. My skin flushed with heat, with sweat, as I sprinted uphill, vaulting stone and fern. I’d only traveled this far north once. Right after taking my vows. My captain at the time, a weak-spirited man by the name of Blanchart, had been trying to prove his spine to the Archbishop. He’d heard rumors of melusines in the area, and he’d ordered my contingent to investigate. We hadn’t even found the beach, instead wandering for days in this godforsaken mist.

If the freckled witch spoke truth, Blanchart had been right. There were melusines in the area. After I dispatched the demon in question, I’d return and—

Scoffing, I launched from the path.

She was a witch.

Of course she didn’t speak truth.

Instead of plunging into the forest, I followed the tree line south. There’d been a hamlet nearby. My brethren and I had rented rooms there each night. Unbidden, I glanced down at my chest. My bandolier. The empty sheath above my heart. Pieces of memory swarmed and stung like insects. Leering faces. Bloodstained snow. Searing pain and painted wagons and bitter honey—

A tree had eaten my Balisarda.

I nearly stumbled at the realization. At the onslaught of images. They formed a picture riddled with holes, a puzzle with missing pieces. There’d been lavender hair. Starry cloaks. Troupe de Fortune. The words gored my mind with surprising pain, and this time, I did miss a step. I’d traveled with them, briefly. I’d thrown knives in their company.

Why?

Clenching my eyes against such riotous thoughts, I focused on the one knife that mattered. The one knife I would reclaim. I’d burn the whole forest if necessary. I’d hack the demonic tree down to the ground, and I’d dig until its roots became kindling.